Father & Son
by RoyGoodeRoyGreat
Summary: A collection of one-shots about Roy growing up with Frank and his gang of outlaws. *Rated T for subject-matter, plus possible language and violence in future chapters.*
1. Chapter 1

The gang sprawled about the saloon in various stages of intoxication. The Devlins had followed a girl upstairs quite a while ago, and the bottles on the shelves behind the bar shook ever so slightly. Frank glanced up at the ceiling in annoyance, his first glass of beer still half-full and wrapped in his hand. Gatz had a fiery redhead on his knee as he sat next to Frank, but his eyes were on their leader as his right hand roamed over her body. Dyer had convinced one of the whores to stand with a glass on her head and was lining up a knife. The whore squealed as he let the knife fly; the knife knocked the glass off her head and buried itself in the wall behind her. The crashing glass drew the attention of the barkeep. The aging man tugged at his collar and wiped his brow as he watched the girl clap her hands and fling herself on the outlaw. It was the third glass he'd lost that night.

Roy smirked into the rim of his glass of beer. He could feel the tension rolling off the bartender in waves as he leaned against the counter. It was always like this: the whores welcomed Frank and his men with their deep pockets and deeper needs while the barkeep sweated it out, eyeing their holsters and praying that the local law stayed away. Roy found that sitting back and watching was usually far more entertaining than joining in the revelry.

A clatter of boots on the stairs made Roy turn away from the barkeep. The Devlin twins came down into the saloon, slipping their belts back into place. The whore they'd been with sauntered down after them and came to the bar next to Roy.

"Whiskey, Lenny," she called out. Her full breasts threatened to spill out of her shirt. Roy could see scratches and what looked suspiciously like teeth marks on their tops. She took her glass from the barkeep and turned to Roy. His eyes flicked away from her, but he could see her smile growing out of the corner of his eye. She took a sip and turned her body to face him. "Those boys are closer than an oil baron and his money."

Roy grunted and took a sip of his own drink.

The whore cocked her head and smiled wider still. She followed Roy's eyes to watch Floyd dancing with one the other girls as the Devlin twins laughed. "They share everything, they said. _Everything_." She giggled and placed a hand on Roy's arm.

He gave her a sidelong glance that usually made people back up. She pursed her lips at him in a knowing smile. Quick as a snake, she snatched his hat off his head and placed it on her own. Placing her drink on the counter, she pushed back from the bar and twisted and writhed to the music tinkling from the piano. Roy sighed and shook his head. He threw back the rest of his beer and set his glass down next to hers.

"C'mon now," Roy said softly.

"Dance with me!" she called, reaching her arms out to Roy as she edged back towards the center of the room.

He grabbed a hold of one of her wrists and gently pulled her to him. She began to wrap her other arm around his neck when he took his hat back. Replacing the hat on his head, he released her wrist and murmured, "I'm not much for sharing."

A sour look crossed her face as she caught his meaning. She plastered a smile back on her face and ran her hands down his chest to his belt. "I wouldn't share you," she whispered as she tugged on his belt suggestively.

Roy took her hands off his belt and shook his head once more. "I ain't touching a whore them boys have tainted."

The slap came quick and hard. Roy's head snapped to the side with the impact. Grimacing, he turned back and grabbed her wrist again, rougher this time. She opened her mouth to protest, but her words were cut off as a hand closed around her neck.

Frank pushed past Roy, holding the whore in front of him. He pressed her against the bannister of the stairs as she clawed at his hand.

"Who do you think you are?" Frank hissed, his face inches from hers.

"Frank." Roy started towards them, his hands held out in front of him.

"You are nothing!" Frank insisted, shaking her. "None of you are!" he shouted, waving a hand at the whores crowded around on the balcony above. "You exist to serve—just a body for men to use as they need. Lower than anything in God's eyes."

Roy gingerly placed a hand on Frank's shoulder. The whore's eyes were bulging out of her head and her face had turned bright red. "Frank…" Roy said softly. "Let go."

Frank's eyes flickered between the whore and his chosen son. Roy tried his best to stay steady, his eyes locked on Frank's face. The girl made choking gasps, her own eyes on Roy, pleading silently. Slowly, Frank lessened his grip on her throat. She sucked in air and coughed violently, doubling over as Frank's hand slipped from her throat. The redhead who'd been sitting with Gatz collected her in her arms and pulled her away from Frank and Roy. A large-breasted woman stood at the foot of the stairs. She gestured to the redhead and took the other girl by the shoulders when she was close enough. They started up the stairs and the other whores followed close behind.

Frank and his men were left with just the barkeep and the man at the piano in the corner. The room was quiet as Frank dragged a hand across his face. "Let that be a lesson to you," Frank said to no one in particular. He waved a hand at the piano player, making him jump and turn back to his music, tapping the keys half-heartedly. Frank walked slowly back to his table, eyeing down the men. He sat next to Gatz, who raised an eyebrow at him over his drink. "Another round," Frank yelled to the barkeep.

Roy looked up at the balcony as the barkeep hurried to pull out glasses. The large-breasted woman stood at the bannister with her hands on her hips, glaring down at him. Roy blinked and looked down at his feet. Sighing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and made to walk outside.

"Boys," Frank called over the slowly returning noise. Roy turned to look at Frank as his eyes flicked to him from the Devlin boys. Frank held Roy's gaze as he nodded to the growing line of beers in front if the barkeep. Daryl and Donnie moved immediately to the bar and scooped up three glasses apiece. Roy stood and stared back at Frank as the twins walked across the room to bring beers to the rest of the men. Frank narrowed his eyes and lowered his chin, an unspoken threat Roy had watched him deliver to many others over the years. Breathing out sharply through his nose, Roy turned and grabbed three more beers from the bar.

Roy deposited the beers on the table between Frank and Gatz. He settled into the chair across from them and pulled one of the beers towards him, scraping the glass along the rough wood of the table.

"Thank you, son," Frank said slowly, running his thumb up and down in the condensation on his first glass of beer.

Roy gave a short nod and brought his beer to his lips. "Yes, sir," he mumbled into his drink.

Frank nodded slowly, holding Roy's gaze. Gatz looked back and forth between the two, his shoulders tense. Only when Frank leaned back in his chair did he let out his breath and take a large swig of beer. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you think.**

 **I got the impression that Roy really didn't like the Devlin twins, but if you disagree, let's talk about it! I love this show. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

"What did I tell you?" Frank growled.

Dyer shuffled his feet in the desert sand and tried to blink the alcohol haze from his eyes. "Don't let Roy get drunk."

Nodding slowly, Frank asked, "And what happened?"

"Roy got drunk a lot quicker than I thought he would," Dyer mumbled.

Frank closed his eyes and sighed. "The boy is sixteen. I don't think he's ever had more'n one beer at a time. What did you think was going to happen?"

Dyer rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled something incoherent. Frank shook his head and turned his attention to the boy in question. Roy had his head tilted back all the way and his mouth wide open as he stared at the stars overhead. He swayed from one foot to the other, spinning in slow, lazy circles.

"Boy, quit prancing about," Frank called, a small part of him unsure whether to be mad or laugh aloud at the sight of his surrogate son stupefied by the sky.

Roy jumped slightly as he was jolted out of his reverie. Stumbling over his own feet, he turned to face Frank. "I'm nah prancing," he slurred out, a confused look on his young face.

Frank could hear Gatz stifle a snort of laughter behind him. He turned to look over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at his right-hand man. Gatz tried to suppress a smile, but Frank could see he thought the whole situation was hilarious. He seemed to vaguely remember the bearded man asking if it was a good idea to let Roy go into town with Dyer and Alonzo. He'd waved off his concern, sure that the two older men would watch over Roy. Now, rolling his eyes and turning back to the men in front of him, he vowed to keep Roy by his side at all times.

Roy was still swaying back and forth gently, like someone stepping onto dry land after spending months on a boat. He blinked back at Frank, half a smile plastered on his face.

"Stand still, then," Frank snapped.

Roy nodded slowly and took a deep breath. Widening his stance considerably, he balled his hands into fists and stared intently at the ground before him. Hands on his hips and his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth, the boy's over-exaggerated look of concentration couldn't hide the fact that he was about ready to fall over.

Dyer burst into a fit of giggles and buried his face in Alonzo's shoulder. The big man shook his head in annoyance and turned to Frank. "It weren't even an hour I left them there. I don't know what happened."

"It's your job to know what happens." Frank was tired; tired because they'd spent the last three days riding hard across the desert, and tired because he'd spent so much energy worrying about Roy the past year. The boy was special—he and the rest of the gang could see it. He could spot a horse trail nearly as well as Floyd and was a good shot with a rifle. Frank knew this was exactly where he was meant to be. He'd wanted one night with someone else in charge of Roy. Then this. "I give you an order, I expect you to follow it."

"Yessir."

"Yes, Frank."

Frank turned and started walking back to his tent. A sudden thump caught his attention and he looked over his shoulder to see Roy sitting on the ground, staring up at him with no recollection of how he got there. "Good Lord," Frank mumbled to himself as he bent to crawl into his tent.

Gatz shook his head and moved to help Roy off the ground. Grasping his bicep, Gatz hauled the boy up only for him to slump into his chest. "Okay," he grunted, wrapping an arm around Roy's torso and flinging the kid's arm over his shoulder.

Roy looked up at Gatz like he just noticed him there. "Hey, Gatz," he murmured.

"Hey, kid," Gatz drawled patiently. He led Roy over to the fire and set him down in front of the log he'd been sitting on when the trio had come back from town. Dyer and Alonzo settled down across the fire, Dyer trying to contain his laughter as Alonzo shook his head at him.

Roy eyed the fire for a minute, transfixed by the jumping flames. The flickering light made wild shadows on his face, making him look old and hard one second, young and innocent the next. He heaved a sigh and turned to look at the log behind him. Blinking at it suspiciously, he patted it with one hand. Slowly, Roy leaned over until he was curled on his side with his arm underneath his head. He fell asleep almost instantly.

"Jesus Christ." Gatz laughed softly. "What did you do to him?" he asked Dyer.

"Nothing, I swear!" the big man shot back, keeping his voice low. None of them wanted Frank to come back out.

Alonzo back-handed Dyer in the chest, making him rock back and almost fall off the stump he sat on. "Buying the boy four or five beers does not count as nothing."

"He wanted to learn how to chug," Dyer protested weakly.

Gatz laughed again, covering his mouth with his hand. "Toss me that," he commanded, pointing behind the two men. Alonzo turned and extracted a blanket from the pile and threw it to Gatz. Careful to keep the blanket out of the flames, he unfurled it and draped it across Roy as he slept. "So did he?" Gatz turned his attention back to Dyer.

"What?" Dyer scrunched up his face in confusion before the meaning of Gatz's question dawned on him. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, he did."

* * *

"Rise and shine, Mister Roy Goode!" Frank bellowed as he sat on the log next to the sleeping boy.

Roy opened his eyes and immediately clamped them shut again, groaning at the light assaulting him. His head was pounding. Frank's voice reverberated in his head, bouncing around like a caged bird. He rolled over onto his back and instantly wished he hadn't; his stomach roiled, protesting the sudden movement. "Holy shit," he whispered.

"Time to open your eyes and get up and start the day!" Frank continued, comically loud. He'd decided it would be a waste of time to lecture the boy, so he figured he'd let the massive hangover Roy was sure to have do its work. Well, he'd help it along a little bit.

"Too loud," Roy mumbled, pressing his hands over his eyes. The pounding in his head had intensified to a steady pressure and he thought his eyes might pop out of their sockets.

Frank crouched down next to the boy. "What's that? I can't hear you!" He smirked as Roy winced, maybe enjoying himself a little bit too much. Looking up at Gatz, he could see his friend shaking his head, but he smiled through his beard all the same.

"You," Roy forced out. "Too loud." He took his hands off his face and squinted up at the man he'd come to think of as a father. Frank was smiling down at him in the way he knew meant he was really mad. Groaning, he pulled the blanket on his chest up to cover his eyes, only to get a face-full of dirt.

Laughing, Frank clapped Roy on the shoulder while he sputtered. He stretched up to his full height and called out across the camp, "Well, now that the lush is awake, let's move out. Get ready to ride."

Roy sat up slowly and shook the dirt from his hair. He leaned back against the log and looked up at Gatz. "What the fuck happened?"

Gatz swung a canteen off his shoulder and held it out to Roy. "You got drunk after Frank told Dyer and Alonzo to make sure you stayed out of trouble. Then you came back here and passed out."

Roy gulped water from the canteen and struggled to his feet. Brushing himself off, he asked, "I sleep in the dirt?"

Gatz shrugged and took the canteen back. "C'mon, Lush." He patted Roy on the back and followed Frank to where the horses were tethered.

Roy looked around the camp, dazed and growing more nauseous by the second. Dyer caught his eye and gave him an apologetic smile. Sighing, Roy brushed more dirt off his clothes and started walking towards the horses.

"Get the lead out of your boots, Roy!" Frank called. Most of the men were already astride their horses.

Once he was on his horse, Roy looked over at Frank and squinted. "You're enjoying this."

"Are you not?" he asked, feigning surprise.

"No," Roy replied flatly.

The smile fell off Frank's face and he grew serious. "Then you better do as you're told." He turned away and kicked his horse into a trot. Roy and the rest of the party fell in behind him and they were off.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I'm having a bit of trouble writing Frank, he's such a complex character. Let me know if you have any tips, or if you have an scenarios you'd like me to take a crack at** **. :)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Roy is about 22 here and has already established himself as a deadshot.**

* * *

Roy stood on the shore of the lake, watching the water. It was still as a mirror in the stagnant air. Insects buzzed around in the oppressive heat, chasing each other through the reeds.

A sudden shout rang out from behind Roy, followed by a string of curses strong enough to make a sailor blush. The men had stopped and dismounted their horses haphazardly, rushing to take inventory of the goods—and their injuries.

* * *

He'd been waiting on the edge of the town with Jed Moore and Bill Chick as Frank and a few other men took the bank. The rest of the party waited in the streets astride their horses with guns drawn. They'd shut down the whole town to keep things calm. It was supposed to be a simple job-ride in, persuade the bankers to part with their money, and ride out.

The shot came from a second-story window of the schoolhouse. Jed didn't even cry out, just slumped off his horse and onto the ground. The men were shouting to each other up and down the street. Roy lifted his pistol and fired three shots into the room. He nudged his horse out of the way as the barrel of a rifle appeared in the window. The bullet whisked by him, igniting a small fire on his arm as it grazed his bicep before slamming into Bill's shoulder.

Other shots rang out as the brave fools of Santa Rosa tried to overwhelm the gang. Women screamed from doorways as men were gunned down. Roy shot a man in the throat as he tried to charge his horse. Blood sprayed from his neck, turning the dusty ground a horrible red.

"Roy!"

He turned to find the source of the voice. Gatz waved to him from the porch of the bank. Roy kicked his mount into a gallop and raced down the road, shooting at anyone who aimed a gun at him. He could see Frank walk out of the bank, followed by Floyd and Alonzo, both laden with bags of money. Frank surveyed the scene with disgust and wiped specks of blood off his face.

Roy pulled up his horse next to Frank, flanking him as he mounted his horse. When he was in the saddle, Roy and Gatz urged their horses forward, riding protectively on the right and left of their leader. The rest of the party followed suit, falling in behind the trio. Roy whistled sharply as they rode, and four riderless horses joined the stampede heading north out of town. Frank pushed ahead as they cleared the edge of town, leading the party through the foothills. Roy could hear the men shouting back and forth behind him, asking what happened, who was hurt, where was Jed, where was Hank, Cass, Johnson?

They rode hard, trampling the landscape before them. The horses started whinnying and groaning underneath the men. Roy knew they couldn't last much longer and was relieved when he saw the lake.

"Frank!" he called, not daring to slow his horse. Frank looked back at Roy, then farther back at his men. Nodding, he pulled up his horse in a cloud of dust. The rest of the party rode past, reining in their mounts to stop in a loose cluster around Frank. Roy dismounted and patted his horse on the neck.

Bill rode up next to him, groaning and cursing. Blood covered his shirt, flowing from the wound in his shoulder. Gatz helped him off his horse and sat him down on a rock. Roy grabbed his horse and a few others by the reins and led them down to the water. He'd stay out of the way and let the older men work on the wounded.

* * *

Now, he stooped to pick up a stone. Turning it over in his hand, he inched closer to the water, careful not to slip on the rocky shore. Roy flipped the rock up before catching it again and skipping it across the water. One, two, three, four, splash. "Huh," Roy let out a breathy laugh and bent to look for more good skipping stones.

" _It's gotta be flat, see?" Jim held a perfectly smooth rock for Roy to see._

 _Roy looked down at his own rock, lumpy and imperfect._

" _Watch, okay?" Jim took the flat rock in his hand and spun it out across the water. It bounced—one, two, three, four, splash—before falling below the rippling surface of the lake._

" _Whoa," Roy whispered. He considered the rock in his hand again. Winding up, he tried to fling it the way Jim had. It landed in the water with an impressive plunk, but did not skip. Jim burst out laughing, doubling over and holding his sides._

"Roy!" Frank called.

He stood quickly, dropping the stones he had collected at his feet.

Frank walked slowly down the bank, his face clouded by anger. When he reached Roy, he gave him a quick look before shoving his hands in his pockets and stared out across the lake. "What happened?" he drawled.

"Someone shot Jed from the schoolhouse. A rifle," Roy replied slowly. He could feel how mad Frank was and didn't want to say the wrong thing. "I fired in the window, but they were hid pretty good. They took another shot, that's the one that got Bill." He twisted around to look back at the men. "He… gonna be okay?"

"Gatz got the bullet out. He'll live," Frank replied darkly.

Roy had wanted to ask what happened to Cass, who'd gone in the bank with Frank, but didn't come out. He could see from Frank's expression that that wouldn't be a good idea. Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck.

Frank looked at Roy and frowned. "You're bleeding," he remarked indignantly.

"Oh," Roy said, looking down at his arm. "Yeah, a bullet grazed me. The one that got Bill."

"Well, clean it out and get Gatz to put a bandage on it," Frank ordered, concern written in the lines of his face. He turned back to watch the men and sighed. It was supposed to be a simple job.

Roy frowned and shook his head. He didn't need Gatz to waste his time on him. "It's fine."

Frank whipped his head around to look at Roy, a dangerous look in his eyes. He grabbed Roy's arm and pressed his thumb into the wound, making Roy wince and suck air in through his teeth. "Do as you're told," Frank said slowly.

"Yes, sir," Roy said breathlessly.

Frank nodded. He let go and shook Roy's blood off his hand before walking back up the bank.

Cursing himself under his breath, Roy took off his jacket and shirt. He knew Frank was righteously angry about the way Santa Rosa had turned out; he should've just done the smart thing and bandaged it himself. He knelt at the edge of the water and splashed water onto the wound. The blood and water ran down his arm, making tracks in the dirt on his skin. When he felt it was clean enough, he stood and tossed his clothes over his saddle.

"Frank said you needed a bandage," Gatz called as he headed down to the waterside.

Roy squinted up at him, the sun shining bright over Gatz's shoulder. "Yeah. Well… yeah."

Gatz smirked. "You sure about that?" His blood-stained hands held a roll of cloth, which he started to unravel.

"Well," Roy started, wincing as Gatz pressed the material against his wound, "Frank said I need a bandage."

Gatz raised his eyebrows at the boy, guessing that he wasn't telling the whole story.

"And I… said I was fine," Roy finished as Gatz tied off the bandage and ripped it from the roll.

Gatz scoffed and shoved the rest of the cloth in his back pocket. Shaking his head, he bent over to wash his hands in the lake. "Dumb-ass," he threw over his shoulder.

Roy heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck again. "Yeah."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Please review. :)**

 **AN in regards to age: The IMdB page has a credit listed for "Roy Goode age 15," so I'm pretty sure that Roy was 15 when he joined Frank. Jack O'Connell (Roy) is 27, so I've arbitrarily decided that Roy is 27 when the series takes place. Fight me.**


	4. Chapter 4 pt 1

**Okay, this shit has been giving me a lot of trouble. This chapter is going to end up being a two-parter because I want y'all to know I have been working on this and haven't forgotten about you.**

 **Gatz is slowly becoming more and more important to me in my writings (yes, there are many in progress, probs why this took so long). We don;t get much characterization of him in the show, so I've taken some liberties with him that start out in this chapter and will continue as I get around to posting more.**

 **Sorry for the long-ass wait and note. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Roy is about 20 years old here.**

* * *

"Well, howdy, strangers."

The sweet voice drew Roy's attention momentarily away from the stone in his horse's shoe. A young woman dressed in her Sunday best stood in the street before him, a sly smile on her lips.

"Mornin', Miss," Gatz drawled. Roy could hear the smile in his voice.

"Hello," Roy mumbled, turning his eyes back to his horse. He carefully worked his knife back and forth, trying to pry the stone out without hurting the creature. The sound of footsteps moving away told him that the woman had walked on. Just as the pebble popped out, Roy felt Gatz swat him on the back with his hat. Straightening up, he demanded, "What?"

Gatz had his arms crossed across his chest, holding his hat by the brim in his right hand. "What do you mean, 'What?'"

"What're you hitting me for?" Roy challenged. He slid his knife back into its sheath on his belt.

"I don't believe you," Gatz accused, leveling a wicked stare on him.

Throwing his hands up, Roy shook his head at the older man. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gatz sucked his teeth and swatted Roy on the shoulder before placing his hat back on his head. "You're hopeless," he tossed over his shoulder as he walked up the steps to the general store.

Roy followed him up, stopping at the railing to check that his horse's reins were tied tight. "I didn't do anything!" he called after Gatz.

"Exactly," he shot back, walking up to Floyd.

"What's going on?" Floyd asked, looking between the two men.

Roy shook his head and shrugged. "I have no idea."

Gatz scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Fine looking lady walks up to you and says, 'Well, howdy, strangers,' and you just barely force a 'hello' 'fore going back to your horse. _Hopeless_."

"You said 'morning' to her." Roy furrowed his brow and frowned, still unsure what Gatz was on about.

"Weren't me she was lookin' at," Gatz said simply before turning away to walk into the store. Floyd barked a laugh and followed behind him.

Roy stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. He'd never paid much attention to the women he met across the desert—just the whores, and even then he didn't give them more thought than he had to. He looked down the road in the direction he thought the woman had gone. She was a few stores down, the deep green of her dress standing out against the dull browns of earth and wood. She climbed the few steps up to the shop and turned to look back at him. Roy caught her eye and nodded. She smiled sweetly and walked through the door. Sighing, Roy took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. _Hopeless_ , he thought. He put his hat back on and went to join Gatz and Floyd.

* * *

Roy was tying his pack to his saddle when Gatz jabbed him in the ribs. When Roy turned to him with a frown, the older man just gave him a smile and nodded to something behind him. Following his gaze, he saw the woman in the green dress walking down the road towards him. "What the hell do you want me to do?" Roy asked brusquely.

"Oh, please." Gatz laughed and shoved Roy in the shoulder, causing him to lose his balance and stumble into the woman as she passed.

"Oh!" she gasped, stumbling back a bit herself. "I'm sorry." She smoothed her skirts with delicate hands and looked up at Roy.

"N-no, um, I'm-" Roy stammered. He shot a dirty look back at Gatz. "Par-pardon me, ma'am."

She had deep brown eyes the color of well-polished wood, framed by dense, dark eyelashes. Blushing slightly, she gave Roy a small smile. "Miss."

Roy shifted his stance and rubbed the back of his neck. "W-what?"

The woman laughed, the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkling. "You called me ma'am. It's Miss."

"Oh, well, pardon me," Roy replied, finally feeling like he could catch his breath. "Miss…?"

"Judith," she supplied. She reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear. Looking at him expectantly, she giggled when he didn't give his own name. "And you are?"

"Roy!" Floyd called. Annoyed, Roy turned to look over his shoulder. Both Floyd and Gatz sat on their horses, ready to head back to where the rest of the gang was camped up in the hills outside the city.

Blowing air out between his lips, Roy turned back to Judith. "Uh, Roy," he answered. "I have to go."

"Well, Mr. Roy, will you ever be back in Santa Fe?" Judith asked, a smile playing on her lips.

"I don't know," Roy replied lamely. _Hopeless_ , he thought again. "I hope so."

Judith smiled wider. "I hope so, too."

Roy broke into a smile in spite of himself. He nodded at her and touched the brim of his hat. Turning away reluctantly, he walked back to his horse and quickly untied the reins. Ignoring Floyd's urging to hurry up, he gave Judith one last look before he mounted his horse. She gave him the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen.

He turned his horse to follow Floyd and Gatz out of town, nudging the animal into a canter to catch up. Gatz looked back at him with a smile and let out a suggestive whoop. Shaking his head, Roy called out, "Oh, fuck off!"

* * *

That night, Roy stared into his canteen as he sat by the fire with Frank, Floyd, and Gatz, thinking about Judith and the way she'd smiled at him. He barely noticed when the older men lapsed into silence, but Gatz's snickering soon turned into full-throated laughter, grabbing his attention.

Roy looked up and frowned. "What?"

"You like Santa Fe?" Frank asked calmly as Gatz tried to control his laughter.

"Oh," Roy said, realizing Frank must have asked him when he wasn't paying attention. "Yeah, I s'pose."

"I think _Mr._ Roy liked more than just the city," Gatz suggested.

"I think Mr. Gatz should shut the fuck up," Roy mumbled darkly.

"Oh-ho!" Gatz laughed. "Really?"

"What the hell are you going on about?" Frank asked, furrowing his brow as he looked back and forth between his two men.

"Well—" Gatz started.

"Nothing," Roy interrupted forcefully. "Nothing important happened."

Frank turned his head to gaze at Floyd, raising an eyebrow. The tracker put down his cup and made an hourglass shape in the air. He broke into a wicked grin and held his hands in front of him, cupping the empty space for a moment before making squeezing motions with his fingers.

Roy shook his head as the three older men laughed. Sipping water from his canteen, he thought again of how she smiled at him. She was a nice girl, a clean girl—not the kind Floyd and the others should make crude jokes about. He let it go, eager to get off the subject. "Like I said," he drawled. "Nothing important."

Frank shook his head and contemplated the boy. He'd been quiet since they'd returned from Santa Fe. Frank sensed that Roy cared more about the girl than he was willing to let on, but he decided not to push it. "So how was the layout down there, Floyd?" Frank asked, turning his attention to the tracker on his left.

Floyd finished off his cup of coffee and nodded. "Little tricky, but we could do it."

Roy's eyes flicked between the three older men in front of him. Both Frank and Gatz seemed to know exactly what Floyd was talking about. They nodded in understanding and shifted in their seats to watch Floyd as he described the set-up of the buildings in Santa Fe.

"It's different from the little towns in that the buildings an' everything ain't all lined up. They're kind of in clusters. But if we get all the men in the street right in front of the bank and the buildings next to it, we stand a good chance of keeping control of the area." Floyd motioned with his hands as he talked, drawing the layout of Santa Fe in the space in front of him.

"And that's where the payroll will be?" Gatz asked.

"Yes," Frank answered quietly.

Nodding, Floyd explained, "They brought it in today, according to a man I heard talking, but it ain't going out 'til tomorrow."

Roy stared into the flames. It had been a set-up then, to go to Santa Fe and get supplies. They were scouting it and he didn't even know. He frowned and worked his jaw back and forth, wondering why Frank hadn't told him.

"About when do you suppose it'll go out?" Gatz asked, rubbing his chin and looking off into the distance at the rest of the camp.

"Early," Floyd said, following Gatz's gaze. "Probably not too long after sunrise."

"So we should ride down tonight," Frank decided. He stood and stretched to his full height, then looked down at his son hunched over the fire in front of him. "Roy?"

Looking up, Roy had to lean back to meet Frank's eyes. He looked calm, but there was a silent expectation running through him. Stalling for time, Roy rubbed his chin the way Gatz did when he was thinking. _What does he want?_ "Um, the hotel was right across from the bank. We'll have to secure that too, else we run the risk of anybody in there trying to interfere."

Frank nodded approvingly before looking back out at the men with the ghost of a smile on his face. "Good," he whispered. "You take care of that when we get down there."

Roy hid a smile by taking another sip from his canteen. So it had been a test, then. And he'd passed. "Yessir."

"We'll ride out in a few hours then. Make sure the men know the plan." Frank nodded to Gatz and Floyd before turning away and heading towards his tent to catch a bit of sleep.

* * *

 **Okay, part 2 will pick up the next morning! Hopefully I get it done soon.  
**


	5. Chapter 4 pt 2

**Woo! Holy shit! That took a long time. The second half of this past semester was a doozy. But now it is summer and I'll be able to write more.**

 **Anyway, this picks up the morning after the last chapter.**

* * *

The sun had just started to peek over the horizon when Floyd called back that he saw movement in front of the bank. Already mounted on their horses, the men rushed into the streets of Santa Fe from all directions. They converged on the bank, where a bewildered employee stood with his keys in the door.

"Hello, there," Frank called softly.

The young man leaned forward rather than away from Frank, straining to hear his words. That was one of the ways he got them.

" _You gotta make them listen to you," Frank drawled. "Make them want to listen to you."_

 _Roy frowned. "Seems like having a gun on them would be enough."_

 _Frank shook his head and turned on his horse to look at Roy. "That's where you'll get into trouble—relying on your weapon too much." He pulled his black-handled pistol out of his holster. "This is a tool, but you gotta understand it's limitations. Guns don't keep people calm—talking keeps people calm."_

"I'm going to need you to unlock that door now," Frank continued as he dismounted his horse. Gatz pulled his weapon from his holster and held it casually in his lap, thumb tapping the safety.

The bank employee gave an audible gulp and turned to the door. He fumbled with the keys and dropped them when he took them out of the lock.

"It's alright," Frank said patiently, walking up the steps to the bank. He turned and signaled the men. Several spread out across the street, maintaining a look-out. More dismounted, drawing their guns as they got to the ground. Gatz, Alonzo, and Dyer walked into the bank with Frank and the banker.

Roy dismounted and pulled both of his pistols from the belts on his hips, cradling the black-handled pistol in his right hand. He locked eyes with Bud Ledbetter and motioned to the hotel behind them. They were joined by Dick, Carson, and Harry as they walked up the steps.

Dick kicked the door open and walked into the parlor, his eyes roving over the room. An aging man stood at a table, holding a stack of plates in his hands. His eyes went wide as Roy and the other men walked in. "No need to be alarmed, sir," Roy called. "Just stay where you are and no harm will come to you."

The old man nodded and placed his plates on the table in front of him.

Roy glanced at Bud quickly and motioned to the door at the back of the room. Bud strode purposefully towards it, not bothering to keep an eye on the proprietor—the rest of the men had his back.

Dick and Harry moved over towards the windows overlooking the street, each taking a position in opposite corners of the room. Carson started up the stairs as a surprised shout came from the kitchen.

The old man's head whipped around at the noise. He wrung his hands and let out a shuddering breath.

"No one's getting hurt, long as you don't try anything," Roy explained slowly and firmly, drawing the man's attention away from the kitchen. "How many guests you have upstairs?"

"U-uh, two," he stammered.

Roy nodded. "Which rooms?" he asked slowly, glancing up at Carson.

"The-the, uh." He took a deep breath to steady himself and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "The back room, at the end of the hall, and the first at the top of the stairs."

Roy turned and looked at Dick. He'd set up by the window, his gun trained on the street. "Watch him," Roy called before starting up the stairs after Carson. He'd already started down the hallway to the back room, so Roy tucked his second pistol back in its holster and turned the knob of the first door.

He pushed the door open to reveal a large bed in the center of the wall across from the door. A dark-haired man sat up in surprise. He reached for the gun on his bedside table, but froze when Roy leveled his pistol at his forehead.

"Get out of bed, real slow," Roy drawled, motioning to the side of the bed away from the table.

The man withdrew his hand and shoved the sheets off his legs. Keeping his eyes locked on the gun, he swung himself out of bed and stood with his hands in the air. He wore only a thin shirt and long underwear as he shivered in the cool morning air.

A scream came from downstairs, followed by a clatter of pots and pans. Roy stayed steady, watching the man's reaction to the noise. A dark look passed over his face as he realized he'd lost an opportunity for a distraction.

Roy motioned his gun at the man again, beckoning him forward. "Walk slow, now," he commanded. "We're gonna head downstairs." He walked backwards out the door, unwilling to let the man out into the hallway before him.

The man followed Roy out, hands still raised. When he came within arms reach, Roy grabbed one of his his wrists and twisted his arm behind his back. He placed the barrel of his pistol at the base of his skull and spoke into his ear. "Don't try nothin'."

Carson stepped out of the room at the end of the hall, holding a woman in a dressing gown around the waist. They walked down the hallway together, her shuffling feet making enough noise to cover what Carson said as he whispered in her ear.

"Please!" the old man called downstairs.

Roy started down, pushing his captive in front of him. As he rounded the turn in the staircase, he saw the man standing with his hands in the air as Dick aimed his rifle at his chest. Harry still had his weapon trained in the street, but he stared back into the room in the direction of the kitchen.

"Please," The man begged again, looking up at Roy on the stairs.

Roy walked his man down the stairs faster. He deposited him in front of Harry, who turned his torso to aim his rifle at the dark-haired man.

Sobbing and the sound of creaking wood came from the kitchen. Roy lowered his pistol and strode towards the swinging double doors. Pushing them inwards, he walked into the kitchen.

Bud had a woman bent over a table, skirts gathered at her waist. He moved rhythmically behind her, ignoring her sobbing pleas. Thick, brown hair fell over her head and covered her face. She looked up as Roy walked in and her curls parted to reveal the terror in her dark brown eyes.

 _Judith_.

Roy crossed the space between him and Bud in seconds. Drawing back his right hand, Roy grabbed Bud and shoved him back with his left. He held on to the front of his shirt as he pistol-whipped him once, then twice, three times.

Bud cried out and tried to pry Roy's hand from his shirt. "What the hell—"

Roy cut him off, spinning him around and shoving him towards the doorway. "Get the fuck out of here!" he snarled and pointed his gun at Bud.

Bud spat blood on the floor in front of him and fumbled with his belt. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" he shouted back.

"You know damn well who I am," Roy growled. _Frank Griffin's favorite son, and someone you don't fuck with._ He lunged forward and wrapped his hand around Bud's neck. His momentum sent them both careening through the doors of the kitchen. Gritting his teeth, Roy threw Bud against the wall and shoved his pistol in its holster. "Get the fuck out," he growled again.

Bud raised his hands in front him and pressed his back into the wall. "Fuck are you _doing_ , Roy?" Specks of blood sprayed from his lips, landing on Roy's cheek. Roy could hear the terror in his voice, see the conflict in his eyes: if he fought back, Frank would destroy him for touching Roy, but if he didn't protect himself, Roy just might kill him.

"Judith!" the old man called, running past Roy and Bud into the kitchen.

Roy snarled and shoved Bud to the ground. Kneeling with one knee on Bud's chest, he slammed his fist into the side of his face. He hit him again and again. Images of Judith flashed through his mind: her smile, her eyes, her blushing, her green dress—her fear when he came in the kitchen, Bud behind her, her body crumpling to the floor when he pushed Bud off of her.

Someone was shouting. The sound hit his ears like he was underwater—distorted and fuzzy. It didn't make sense at first. He slowed in his attack on Bud, blinking. Both of Bud's eyes were swollen and black. He bled from his nose and mouth.

"Roy!"

The sound came again, clearer this time. Roy looked down at his hand. His knuckles were split and bloody, though some of the blood was undoubtedly not his own. Opening and closing his fist, he looked up in front of him.

"Roy," Carson called softly, seeing he had the boy's attention. "They're out of the bank. We have to go."

Roy stood slowly, looking around the room. Dick had walked closer, stopping a few feet away with one hand stretched out in front of him, his gun dangling forgotten at his side. Harry still had his weapon trained on the man from upstairs, though it had dipped to point at his waist rather than his head. He and the stranger wore twin looks of shock and disgust. The woman Carson had been holding was collapsed at the foot of the stairs, covering her face with her hands. Carson looked more concerned about Roy than the woman at his feet.

"Okay," Roy said hoarsely, standing up. "Okay." He walked across the room and out the door.

The sun had risen completely, and it bathed the streets of Santa Fe in a soft golden light. Frank's men were closing their perimeter back in around the men emerging from the bank. Gatz and Alonzo tied bags of money to their saddles as Frank mounted his horse. He looked at Roy for a moment before his eyes flicked to the door behind him. Concern washed over his features.

Roy turned to see Dick and Bud walking out of the hotel, one of Bud's arms draped over his friend's shoulder. Carson and Harry followed close behind. Harry moved to support Bud on his other side, but the beaten man shrugged him off.

"What happened?" Frank demanded.

Cradling his right hand against his chest, Roy turned quickly and walked over to his horse.

"Ask your son," Bud spat, his words slightly slurred.

Frank turned to look at Roy, already mounted on his horse. Disbelief was written in the lines of his face. His eyes flicked from Roy's eyes to his bloodied knuckles, back up to the blood spattered on his cheek. Face contorted with rage, he wheeled his horse around and snapped, "Let's ride!"

All the men on the ground scrambled into their saddles as Frank tore out of the city, Gatz hot on his heels. Roy followed a bit behind, ignoring the other men. His mind raced nearly as fast as his horse. _What have I done? Will Judith be alright? Of course not. I should've shot him. What'll Frank say?_

 _What'll he do?_

* * *

Frank pulled his horse up short as soon as he reached the clearing where they'd camped the night before. Dismounting quickly, he stalked back and forth, running a hand over his face.

Gatz rode up behind him. "Frank," he called quietly, caution in his voice.

The rest of the men came barreling into camp, Roy among them. He looked decidedly less pale than he had when he walked out of the hotel in Santa Fe, but his face had a hard set to it that Frank hadn't seen before.

"Roy," Frank snarled between clenched teeth.

The young man dismounted his horse and walked slowly towards Frank, clenching and unclenching his battered fist.

"What the hell happened in that hotel?" Frank hissed.

Roy's eyes glazed over. "Judith… he was on her. I… I hit him…" he explained quietly, incapable of forming a complete sentence.

"He went crazy, is what happened," Dick called from his horse.

Frank waved a hand dismissively at him. "Judith?" he asked sharply.

Blinking, Roy looked back and forth between Bud and Frank. "The woman," he started, his voice clearer, "from yesterday. He was raping her. And I stopped him."

"So he took a woman you had your eye on, that's no reason to beat the shit out of him when you knew he wouldn't fight back," Frank yelled, gesturing at Bud.

Roy laughed darkly. "You're a goddamn fool if you think—"

Frank's fist connected with the side of Roy's face with a wicked blow that threw him off balance. Roy stumbled back a few steps before Frank lashed out and grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. Frank pulled him to the side and slammed him against a large boulder. Roy's head snapped back, bouncing off the rock. A moan escaped his mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"What'd you say to me, boy?" Frank bellowed, his face inches from Roy's. He drew his fist back and struck him again. Blood flew from the corner of Roy's mouth, spattering both men.

Roy's ears were ringing and he had to squint to focus through the double vision. The two well-placed hits had already made him feel as though he would collapse. Frank had never hit him before. He'd seen Frank dole out a few blows in the five years he'd known him, but had never been on the receiving end. He was stronger than Roy ever thought.

Frank buried both fists in Roy's shirt and shoved him back against the boulder. "You think you're untouchable? You can do whatever you want? I _made_ you, you owe _everything_ to me! You better speak to me with some fucking respect!"

"Frank," Roy breathed. His vision was going dark at the edges. The man in front of him wasn't the Frank he knew, the man who'd taken him in when he had no one else. This Frank was the man wanted across four states, two territories, and parts of Mexico.

The older man removed his right hand from Roy's chest and delivered a sickening, back-handed blow. Roy cried out and lifted his hands in front of his face. Frank stepped back and let Roy fall to the ground.

"Now look what you've done," Frank seethed. "You brought me to this!"

Roy swung his head up to look at Frank through rapidly swelling eyes. The image danced before him, jumping and wobbling like a reflection water. He was breathing hard, practically panting as he fought to stay conscious. _What have I done?_

"Stand up!" Frank commanded. His eyes were full of fury and his breath came almost as fast as Roy's as he tried to get control of himself.

Bracing himself on the boulder, Roy pushed himself to his feet. He had to keep a hand on the rock to hold himself up as his head swam.

Frank stepped forward until he was toe-to-toe with Roy. "Now, this here's a family— _my_ family—that I brought you into. You are _nothing_ without your family. We ain't never gonna leave you and you ain't never gonna leave us. That's the way family works. You better start treating your family with some damn _respect_." He grabbed Roy's chin and forced him to look in his eyes. "You understand me?"

Roy winced at Frank's grip on his bruised face. "Yes, sir," he breathed out, barely able to form the words.

Frank gave Roy a quick nod and shoved him back a step before turning and walking away. Roy stumbled and caught himself on the boulder. Leaning against it, he brought a hand to his mouth. He wiped the blood off his lip with the back of his hand.

The men had fallen silent when Frank struck the first blow. They'd barely had time to get off their horses before Frank and Roy had started in on each other. Now they stood around in a loose circle, half of them staring at Roy while the others watched Frank stalk towards the trees.

Bud stared back at Roy unsympathetically, his own swollen and bruised face no doubt a mirror of the boy in front of him. He spat in the dirt at his feet. "'Bout damn time," he drawled before turning to grab his pack off his horse.

Gatz whipped around to glare at the man, but Bud met his stare head on. They shared a tense moment before Bud walked his horse over to a nearby tree and tied the reins to a branch. The rest of the men followed suit. Only Gatz and Roy stood still, facing each other in the dying light.

Roy's eyes pleaded with Gatz, begging for some kind of comfort he was too afraid to ask for. Gatz had always been there for him before. Now, Gatz sighed and ran a hand over his face. He gave Roy one last look before gathering the reins for his and Frank's horses and turning away.

Sighing, Roy squeezed his eyes shut once more. He was stuck. He'd lost the trust of the only people who cared for him. Roy knew Frank was right, he was nothing without them—just a dumb kid with no one to call his own. He opened his eyes and looked up to the sky. The clouds had turned flaming red in the sunset. Pushing off from the boulder, Roy bent to grab his hat. He looked around for his horse and spotted her stooped over a small creek to drink. Roy walked over and knelt beside the animal to put his hands in the water. He cupped his hands and brought some water to his lips, taking a sip before splashing it on his face. Roy leaned over the creek and rubbed water on his face until his hands stopped coming away tinged with blood.

Roy rocked back on his heels and sat on the ground beside his horse. He stared at the water as it ran by, absentmindedly probing the cut on his lip with his tongue. After a minute, the horse turned her head and nuzzled into Roy's shoulder. Roy reached up and stroked the animal's neck. Groaning with the effort, he stood and led the horse over to a lonely tree next to the creek. He tied the reins to a low branch and grabbed a threadbare blanket out of his saddle bag. Roy sat at the base of the tree and placed the blanket on the ground next to him. He watched as the sky turned from red to orange, then to the deep blue and black of night. The others started fires between the trees opposite the creek and warmed themselves some food to eat—but Roy sat by himself, both hoping that someone would call him over and praying that he'd be left alone. His prayers were answered and he fell asleep under the tree, resting his battered face on the blanket balled up under his head.

* * *

Roy spent the next few days riding at the back of the party and sleeping on the outskirts of their camps. He thought about leaving. Frank had told him when he was a kid that he'd never beat on him. He'd promised. Roy had gotten hurt before—it was part of the life. He'd been beat nearly within an inch of his life, he'd been shot at, even sliced up a few times. But he never thought that Frank might hit him.

He knew Frank was a man of unimaginable cruelty. He'd seen him slaughter whole families, burn towns to the ground, drag men behind galloping horses. The collar around his neck fooled strangers into thinking he was a pastor, but Roy knew Frank's forgiveness came in the form of a bullet to the head.

But he also knew Frank as the man who'd taken him in after he tried to steal his horse. He knew him as the man who taught him to shoot, the man who'd taught him how to ride a horse—well, how to ride better. He knew him as the man who laughed wholeheartedly at his stupid jokes, the man who responded with stupid jokes of his own, who had a Bible quote for every occasion, who had nightmares and dreams and a soft spot for cats. He knew him as his second father.

Roy remembered what it was like to be alone. He'd lost his mother and his home; then his father, then his brother. He'd even lost Sister Lucy, in a way, though he'd been the one to leave. He couldn't leave this time—he needed Frank. Frank was right. Roy would be nothing without him. And so he stayed, waiting for Frank to tell him it would be alright.

The bruises on Roy's face had almost faded completely before Frank spoke to him directly. Frank sat on his horse overlooking a cliff as the party got ready to ride. "Roy," was all he said, calling across the camp without turning his head.

Already mounted, Roy rode his horse over to Frank. He stopped to his right and just behind, careful to stay out of arm's reach.

"How are you, son?" Frank asked, dead calm and staring straight ahead.

"I'm fine… sir," Roy responded cautiously.

Frank turned to look at him over his shoulder. Roy looked down at his hands, suddenly hyper-aware of the six or seven guns they carried between them. His heart pounded as Frank turned his horse so it faced the opposite direction, bringing the animal close enough that Roy's leg bumped his. Slowly, Roy brought his eyes up to meet Frank's. They showed no anger, but no remorse either—just the cold promise that he'd do it again.

"Good," Frank said softly, giving Roy a quick nod. "Good, Roy Goode."

Roy laughed lightly at the old joke and looked back down at his hands. Just like that, he was accepted back into the fold.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading. I hope you liked it! I'm not super confident writing fights. Please let me know what you thought!  
**


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